


I Hate Me (I Love You)

by TheLanceShow



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Angst and Humor, Communication Failure, Crying, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Jealous Shiro (Voltron), Jealousy, Lance (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Lance (Voltron) is a Dork, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron) is so Pure, Light Angst, M/M, Oblivious Lance (Voltron), Oblivious Shiro (Voltron), One Big Happy Family, Pining Lance (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Protective Shiro (Voltron), Sad Shiro (Voltron), Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Shiro (Voltron) is a Dork, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, The perfect boy? Thats lance, thats a lot of selfs yikes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 18:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15734976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLanceShow/pseuds/TheLanceShow
Summary: "I fucking - " Shiro gestures wildly at Lance. His face flushes with indignation. "Are you kidding me?!""No!" Lance manages to shout. The anger is real, truly, though not from the source it should be from. He's angry at himself, in all honestly, because he always does this. "Listen - why does it even bother you?! What's the big deal!""Because I - " Shiro cuts himself off with a loud groan, closing his eyes. He clenches his fists a few times before blowing out a sigh. "You know what? It doesn't bother me, Lance. Do whatever the fuck you want. If you don't want me to care about you then - I won't."And that - that just breaks Lance's damn heart. Maybe Shiro sees the tears well up, or maybe spill over his lashes, because his anger disappears, replaced with regret."Then don't," Lance chokes out, turning on his heel and stomping out of the apartment. He vaguely hears Shiro calling after him. With every step, he knows that he's the one that lied, the one that did this, but his emotions aren't cooperating with his brain. He only makes it to his car before he's yanked back into a firm chest.Lance is in love with Shiro and doesn't know how to cope, considering he hates himself so much.





	1. Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> *finishes one multi chapter fic and has like three more to update*
> 
> Me:... Let's start another one :))
> 
> The chapters for these are probs gonna have maybe multiple updates a week? Chapters start off nice and short, then they're gonna grow, swears it

Lance hates his teeth.

His teeth are startlingly straight, he'll give himself that, and white. But the white is dim, like sometimes the sky before it rains. They're not as white as they could be, or even relatively bright. They're not stained yellow despite the amount of tea he drinks. Just a very light gray. And it bothers him, because that's not a normal color for teeth to be. Shiro claims that there's no way they're gray, that his teeth are a nice, cotton white. But Lance would beg to differ, because he'd believe that ridiculous dark white nonsense. Shiro must be talking about his own teeth, really.

Lance loves Shiro's teeth, which is kind of weird.

They're aligned perfectly, despite the fact that apparently, Shiro never had braces. They're even, too, the perfect size. He doesn't have a-little-too-long canines like Lance does. They go across in an even line, a nice balance between sharp and blunt. Shiro has had a few cavaties in his life, two molars in his mouth with fillings. They're white like the rest of his teeth, sanded down on the inside like a slide. When Shiro smiles, his smile glimmers despite the slight stain of yellow. But they're amazing like that, not an odd gray tint to them. He claims it was because of the soy sauce he used to chug as a kid just because his mother told him not to. A nice, lovely, normal color that still manages to make Lance nearly stutter whenever the man smiles.

"Honey, I'm home!" Lance hears from his room. He gets up sleepily, woken from his half-asleep state at the sound of Shiro's keys in the door. His shirt is rucked up a little but he doesn't mind it as he leaves his room. Shiro is toeing off his sneakers. He has two armfuls of groceries in his hands. He looks dapper in his blazer, button up, and skinny jeans. He looks up and gives a wide, toothy smile. "Hey, Lance."

"Call me _honey_  again and I might just jump your bones," Lance murmurs, voice scratchy. Sadly, his filter hasn't yet kicked in. Shiro blushes easily, so he's not surprised to see a dusting of pink gather around his cheekbones. "How'd it go?"

Shiro lets Lance grab the bags from him and bring them to the kitchen. He finishes taking off his shoes and blazer, laying the jacket on one of their two dining room chairs. Lance looks back just as Shiro takes a step towards the kitchen - his roommate slips on the tile, sock sliding. Lance watches, already laughing, as Shiro falls forward and doesn't manage to catch himself. There's a vague sound of pain but Lance doesn't mind it, placing the food on the counter.

"Don't worry, I'm okay," Shiro says sarcastically. Lance leans his hip against the counter, hand covering his mouth so Shiro can't see the smile on his face. Shiro brings himself up, rubbing his nose. It's red, but doesn't look like it will start bleeding. "Here I was, going to help you put stuff away."

"Ah, English major Takashi Shirogane uses the word _stuff_ for the first time since graduation!" Lance exclaims, turning around an unpacking. He feels Shiro's hand brush the nape of his neck and freezes up.

"Your hair's growing out," he murmurs, walking past him.

"Should I cut it?" Lance asks once he shakes himself from his stupor. His fingers travel up to his hair, to find that his bangs reach his eyebrows now. "Oh, shit."

"It suits you," Shiro says. He takes the soy milk out of the fridge and uncaps it. With a dubious sniff, he nods, and drinks straight from the carton. Lance stares at him.

"Have - have you been doing that for a while?" Lance asks, brushing his hair out of his face. Shiro drains the milk with a shrug.

"Yeah?" Shiro walks to the recycling bin and throws the empty container into the bin. Lance crosses his arms and looks at Shiro with a raised brow. "What, dude?"

"That's gross," Lance says, pulling more fruits out of the bags. Another bag contains Mini Wheats and he scrunches up his nose. "That's even grosser."

"Why you gotta dis my eating habits, huh?" Shiro asks, pushing Lance's head as he brushes by. "Like you can talk."

"My eating habits are normal," Lance grumbles, brightening significantly when he pulls out a horned melon. "Thanks, Takashi."

Shiro laughs, and it's kind of choked, but when Lance turns to look at him, he can only see his back.

"No problem. I know you like them, and they go pretty fast."

"My hero," Lance croons, placing it inside of their fruit basket. There's that weird laugh again, but Lance gets distracted by the various items in another bag. He says, deadpan, "Let me live."

"Yeah, you can't talk!" Shiro says, whirling around and grabbing Lance's wrist so he stumbles into him. He lets go like Lance burned him and continues, pointedly staring at the bag behind Lance. "Carved turkey, Nutella, cinnamon, grain bread, pickles, and peanut butter on a sandwich isn't normal."

Lance reaches up and tugs on Shiro's ear harshly, startling him into looking Lance in the eyes as he growls, "I don't drink from the carton!"

And at that, Shiro gives a toothy laugh, close enough that Lance can see those faint stains. He gives a closed mouth smile and takes a step back, letting go of Shiro's ear. Shiro looks disappointed, and he expects the words that leave his mouth.

"I wish you'd smile more," Shiro says softly. He crosses his arms at frowns at Lance. "It's lovely."

Lance's cheeks heat as he faces the counter again. "I smile all the time."

_I just don't like showing how imperfect I am if I can help it._

Shiro sighs.


	2. His Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro loves Lance's teeth as much as Lance hates his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the deal is that Lance is insecure to the tenth power but Shiro isn't. He's just in love with him.

Shiro loves Lance's teeth, which is weird to say the least.

They're cotton ball white and damn near sparkle. Shiro will admit that he himself had nice teeth, but Lance? They're gorgeous in all their glory. He's never had a cavity in his life and it shows in how he so dutifully brushed at them. His canines are a little longer than average and it's the most adorable thing (or hot, whatever) that Shiro has ever seen. He's not sure where Lance got the notion that his teeth are an abnormal gray rather than white. Maybe the shadows deceive him, but when Lance will take a large bite out of a burger, his teeth are as white as ever against the bun. And, God, had Lance looked adorable with his braces, teeth stark white even before the metal bands wrapped around his teeth.

Shiro comes back from his new job with a slouch in his back, eyes burning. High school students are kind of assholes, but he prefers it over the younger kids.

Lance is sprawled lazily on the couch, blinking slowly at the television screen. He's wearing the gray sweatpants that Shiro adores on him. They adorn his physique amazingly, showing off clothed strong thighs and shins.

"Lance," Shiro says, walking further into the apartment. It takes a moment for Lance to drag his eyes away from the screen to lock onto Shiro's. "Hi."

He gives a closed mouth smile and Shiro feels a frown tug at his lips. "Hey hey. How was your first day?"

"I found out that seniors are assholes, even on the first day of school. How about yours?" Shiro kicks his shoes off as he blows out a sigh.

Lance grunts, sitting up on his forearms to look at Shiro more directly. "I got hit on a couple of times but otherwise, it was okay."

"People hit on you?" Shiro asks, but it comes out more incredulous than he means for it to. Lance's expression changes from laid back to subtly offended. 

"Yeah, hard to believe some peeps find me attractive," he says, deadpan, letting himself fall back onto his back. He turns his head to the television again, cheeks flushed. "What do you want for dinner?"

 Shiro pads his way over to the couch and looks down at Lance. He hasn't shifted his eyes, so he's just kind of staring at Shiro's thigh.

"Lance," Shiro says.

"What?"

"You know I didn't mean it like that." Shiro crosses his arms when Lance moves up on the couch to see the TV. "I just meant - I didn't think people would try to smash-" Lance lets out a small huff of what might have been laughter "-while you're trying to help them feel better."

"Shiro, it's whatever," Lance sighs out, sitting up and crossing his legs on the couch. He looks up at Shiro and Shiro has to look away, the back of his neck heating. He knows he's a bit too in love with the young man looking up at him so intensly. "I'm not in a good mood, I'm sorry." He notices how far back Lance has to tilt his head and backs up a bit. 

"Want me to make you some tea?" Shiro asks, letting his hands fall to his side. Another small smile, and Lance nods a bit. Shiro grins at him and something changes in Lance's face, though he can't pin what it is. "Jasmine?"

"Mint and honey, please," Lance says, propping his elbow onto his knee and resting his chin on his fist. "Milk?"

"We only have condensed right now," Shiro says over his shoulder, heading into the kitchen. At the bar, he sees Lance look over at him with a frown.

"Really?"

"I drank the last of the soy milk," he says with a sheepish smile. Lance rolls his eyes playfully. "Sorry?"

"Gross eating habits!" Lance shouts, and runs his hand through his hair so it doesn't hang in his face. Just last week, Shiro realized how soft it was. When Lance froze up after Shiro brushed his hair on his neck. It's a shame that Lance is still so uncomfortable with Shiro touching him. He'll ruffle Keith's hair, pick up Pidge to her disgruntle, drape across Hunk in a loose embrace, even sit on a blushing Matt's lap. Kiss Allura's hand, even, when she visits, and hug Coran so tightly that Shiro swears he can hear cracks. But Shiro? He doesn't touch Shiro, and it makes his heart ache sometimes.

"Yeah, yeah," Shiro grumbles. He fills a clean mug with water and looks up at Lance, who's already staring at him. Heat pricks at his face and he clears his throat. "Did you want it or not?"

"Just the tea is fine," Lance says, eyelids low. Shiro rolls his lips into his mouth and turns to put the water in the microwave. "Hey, Takashi?"

Shiro's back hunches and he tries not to let the shiver in his stomach travel through the rest of his body. The butterflies that roam his stomach have officially brought the entire animal kingdom to join them.

"Yeah?" he says, though it comes out strangled. He doesn't bother clearing his throat because he's not sure if it would make it better or worse. He looks over his shoulder at Lance

"Sorry for lashing out on you." Lance looks away almost shamefully. "You didn't deserve that."

Shiro looks at him incredulously. "Lashing out? You call _that_ lashing out?"

"Well, yeah?" Lance tries, eyes flickering back to Shiro His eyebrows pull together and he frowns. "I mean, I guess it wasn't really lashing out but, I dunno. I feel bad, and I apologize for kind of being a dick."

"You weren't even close to being a dick, dude. What the hell are you talking about?" Shiro turns away, shaking his head as he reaches into a cabinet. It takes a bit of moving around, but he finds the mint tea and honey. He pulls them out and places them on the counter. He damn near shrieks when he feels a hand skirt from his elbow to his bicep. "Holy _fuck_ , Lance!"

The man in question stares at his hand where it touches Shiro's shirt. He seems focused and his cheeks flush, though Shiro isn't sure why. It's the longest Lance has ever touched him, for the seconds tick by too-fast-too-slow. Finally, fingers still lightly resting on Shiro, he looks up from under his eyelashes. 

"You still haven't told me what you want for dinner," Lance says softly. It takes Shiro a moment to respond because, _God,_ Lance is _beautiful_.

"Spaghetti?" Shiro tries, though his voice cracks. 

At that, Lance beams at him. Shiro would gladly go blind staring at that grin, teeth a little sharp and straight and bright like starlight.

"No problem, big guy," Lance says, around that broad smile. "That's what you always ask for."

Lance giggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF SHE REALLY DID THAT,, WOW
> 
> make me an icon, I'll pay you


	3. Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance's laugh makes him want to scratch his ears off.
> 
> Shiro's laugh makes his heart sing, feels like warm honey muffling his train of thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question:
> 
> When I turn 18, would you suggest commissions? Like, it doesn't mean I won't post my own stories. But if you want a particular idea written, with the ship of your choosing, I would. 
> 
> (Obvi there would be rules, i.e. OT3s for Lance would mean other parties wouldnt be attracted to each other, Shklance is if shiro and Keith aren't romantic with each other, no other sheith ships, that's pretty much the only rules.
> 
> If I were to.)
> 
> I HAVE NOTHING AGAINST ADAM I JUST THOUGHT HIM HAVING A SMALL PENIS WOULD BE FUNNY

Lance hates his laugh.

The range is what he would call annoyingly large. He has squeaky giggles that are uncontrollable. Breathy little laughs that kind of embarrass him because they have this  _lilt_  to them, and it's not his fault. Larger than life cackles that are always a bit too much in any acceptable social environment that take up the entire room. Dainty titters with such a low pitch that he kind of sounds demonic. Chuckles that have high enough tenors that he sounds like a dolphin getting attacked. Some of them are rolling and gravelly, deep for no apparent reason that just doesn't fit the mood. It's bad enough that he's easy to entertain, easy to get to laugh. That's a real shame, because every laugh he has stored, listed or not, will come out eventually. He snorts easy, too, which is the exact opposite of attractive.

Lance loves Shiro's laugh.

It's always clear, no notes of something stuck in his throat (unless there was that one time where Lance did something stupid and Shiro took in a sharp breath, then laughed, causing for his butterscotch drop to get lodged in his throat. It was a scary experience and only Lance was able to do the Heimlich maneuver). Shiro laughs from deep in his stomach, though it's never a stupidly low chuckle that Lance sometimes has. He doesn't really laugh easily around others, from what his longer-known friends had told Lance. He laughs plenty, but definitely not as much as Lance. Shiro's laugh cause an explosion of knife-winged butterflies to erupt in Lance's stomach. He just wishes his own laugh could remind someone why they're in love.

Lance stumbles to the toilet, letting out a string of profanities as he falls to his knees. He's barely able to lift the toilet seat before emptying the contents of his stomach into the bowl. It comes out of his nose, too, which is fucking awesome and _wow, he sure does hate the fact that Shiro is rubbing his back while he's tossing his cookies._

He barely gets in another breath before he, once again, lets bile and other undigested food make its way out of his stomach. All he can smell is stomach acid and all he hears is liquid hitting the toilet. He's aware that Shiro is probably mumbling something placating, but he's really not in the mood to pretend that he's okay. Lance is 100% sure that he looks like an absolute fucking mess. And Shiro, he has a weak as Hell stomach, so Lance isn't sure how he's even in the house anymore. Lance pauses his gagging to hear something that has him choking. 

"You're gonna be okay, babe."

Insert choke here, thanks.

"Wha?" Lance squeaks, looking over his shoulder at Shiro. He knows his pale face suddenly has a blush hanging on his cheekbones. 

"What's wrong, other than the obvious?" Shiro asks, tense. But his face is red red _red_ , so he definitely knows what he just did.

"You -" but then he throat betrays him and without warning, he pukes onto the floor instead of the toilet. "Fuck!" 

Shiro continues to rub his back as he gags over the toilet. He says something, but suddenly he's gone, and an overwhelming amount of loneliness sinks into Lance's bones. But it's fine, because Shiro can't stand bodily fluids.

(That's a lie.

At least, based on early college years. He and Adam didn't really see a problem with the fact that Lance lived with Shiro on campus. That meant coming home from afternoon classes to find their tongues in each other's mouths. Once or twice, Lance had walked into the dorm room to see Shiro swallowing around Adam's dick, getting a decent amount of cum down his throat, the rest dripping onto the carpet. Lance would always yell at them, complaining and ranting that he wouldn't be the one to clean it up. That being said, Lance has seen entirely too much of Adam's dick. After that first year, they began to fight more often than they had sex. Lance isn't quite sure what happened there, but he doesn't really care. They broke up eventually, however. But anyway, yeah, there are certain bodily fluids that Shiro _really_ likes.

As a side note: he still hasn't seen Shiro's dick.

Side, side note: Adam had a tiny dick.)

It's another fifteen minutes of Lance heaving before he's good to go. He flushes the toilet and stands on shaky legs. He sprays bleach on the floor and wipes up the bile with toilet paper. He throws it tiredly into the garbage can before brushing his teeth thoroughly. The taste in his mouth is gross and tastes vaguely of old fries and beef. He wouldn't want the residue of acid to eat at his teeth, either.

When Lance finally finds it in himself to leave the bathroom, it's to stumble into the living room, freezing his ass off. There, Shiro has just placed a cup of tea on the coffee table; it smells like ginger and mint. There's a soft blanket in front of it on the couch. A bowl of soup sits next to the tea, just as hot. Thankfully, it wasn't hand made. Shiro probably would've burned the apartment down. Eyes tired, Lance searches the rest of the living room to find Shiro all the way at the other end of the couch. He's staring at Lance, something hidden in those slate gray eyes.

"I know you don't have a cold or anything," Shiro says sheepishly, shrugging. "But I figured your throat would be sore. Ginger and mint tea to settle your stomach. That gross mushroom soup -" Shiro's nose scrunches up, "- and blankets. To warm you up from the inside out. And, you know, you love my blanket, so there it is."

Lance blinks at him for a moment, mildly taken aback. He's ill because of some bad burgers he ate. Which was completely on him, considering they looked dubious at best after being left out for a week.

Lance never said he wasn't impulsive, okay?

But this - this was going a bit far.

"Shiro," Lance says, voice laced with laughter. "I don't have the bird flu or anything."

At that, Shiro's face flushes and he looks away with a slight frown. His face goes pinker the more seconds pass by. Lance raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms. Shiro takes three water bottles that he had hidden behind him and places them on the table silently. Lance laughs that stupid, dumb, _borderline_ sexual one.

"Gotta stay hydrated," Shiro mumbles.

Shiro looks at him again, his blush down to his neck. He tenses, and Lance tones down how instensely he was focused on on his roommate.

"Not sayin' I don't appreciate it," Lance says lightly. His voice is rough from puking so much, which is highly unfortunate. It grates on his own ears, and Shiro - fuck, is he looking at his neck? Lance swallows, and Shiro's eyes track his Adam's apple.

No bueno.

_NO BUENO._

~~**_SHIRO, THAT IS NO BUENO, STOP LOOKING AT MY FUCKING NECK, DUDE -_ ** ~~

~~~~Lance takes in a shaky breath before walking over to the couch. He picks up the blanket and plops onto the seat, promptly wrapping himself in the soft fabric. It was from when Lance first taught Shiro how to knit. It was frayed and far from perfect, yet so comfortable. It was big, and warm, and thick.

 _Ha_.

Lance watches Shiro fidget from the corner of his eye.

"Uh, it's - the soup is mushroom bisque. But your nose is still running, isn't it? And dairy isn't good for that kind of thing. Congestion, I mean." Lance feels a smile form on his lips. "I can't remember why from medical skills. Or biology for that matter. I think it has something to do with the enzymes? But, like, I majored in freaking English." He's full out grinning now, his teeth be damned. It's fond, possibly too much so, but who cares? Who cares when Shiro is rambling, out of character? "When I was growing up, my Haha used to say that. That I shouldn't milk - I mean, _drink_ milk - or anything when my nose is stuffy. I really wish I could remember, I swear it's not because I think mushrooms are gross. I don't understand how you eat them, actually, like -"

Lance chuckles, scratchy, and Shiro closes his mouth. He rubs the back of his neck, something he picked up from Lance.

"Thanks, Takashi. I appreciate it."

Shiro nods mutely, pointedly staring at the water bottles. 

"Can you drink one now? I just want to make sure you don't pass out from dehydration."

"'Course."

Lance lets Shiro boss him around a bit. Drink the water, sip the tea, another bottle of water, eat the soup, drink the last bottle - "Dammit Lance, just do it!" - Shiro, 2k18

Shiro lets Lance rest his head against his shoulder. Something sparks in his eyes when Lance asks, then he nods steadily. Like he was trying to hide something.

Lance takes out his phone and pulls up YouTube.

"Wanna hear this new song? They say it's, like, the new _Take On Me_ ," Lance says, suppressing a smile. Shiro makes a curious sound.

"Uh. Yeah, sure."

When the song begins to play, Shiro laughs heartily. A rolling, head-thrown-back sort of laugh. Clear, and deep, and reminding Lance of what he can't really have. He makes sure to not let his train of thought interrupt the moment.

By the end of the song, Shiro keeps snickering and saying, _"Bitch, I'm a cow, bitch, I'm a cow."_

"Want me to play it again?" Lance asks, finger hovering over the replay button.

"Yes!" Shiro says with another chuckle.

Lance grins and feels Shiro sway, just the slightest.

Shiro sings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave suggestions? Like,, I need a freakin job and i cant leave my house, considering I'm somehow gROUNDED IM ALMOST 18 MOM WHAT THE F-
> 
> I'M ON SCHEDULE, WHOOP!


	4. His Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance's laugh might be what Shiro lives for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o o f
> 
> HNNNG

Shiro loves Lance's laugh wholeheartedly.

The many types of laughs he has is honestly astounding. Shiro wouldn't have it any other way, honestly. Breathy, that have Shiro's breath catching subtly in his throat. Loud and vivacious, bringing out childish thoughts in Shiro. Deep, that make his heart skip a couple of beats. Passive aggressive, making Shiro want to burst out laughing himself. Wheezing and tears in his eyes, the sight alone bringing a soft smile to his lips. And the snorting, God, which has to be Shiro's favorite. It was so incredibly endearing, watching his nose crinkle, eyes bright, brows furrowed from the noise. And his little vampire fangs would poke out, too. In comparison, Shiro's laugh has nothing on Lance's.

Lance's laugh reminds him of why he's in love.

There are times when Lance just gets really... sad. In turn, it makes Shiro almost as. The faint frown on his face is disconcerting. That quivering lip with a promise of tears.

Shiro hopes he's always able to break that promise.

He knocks on Lance's door lightly, enough for Lance to know he's there but not so much as to startle him. He doesn't hear a response, but Lance's car is in the lot and all of his fucking shoes (deep breaths, Shiro) are on the countertop. He didn't see him in the pool next to the apartment, either. The fresh heat from the oven gives it away as well.

Shiro walks away, cracking his back. He feels a flush crawl up his neck the more he thinks about Lance. It's out of frustration, though, because he really wishes Lance wouldn't lock himself away when he's feeling down.

After a moment of stalling in front of his own door, Shiro opens it. Shuts it, still in the hallway, and turns on his heel. Just then, Lance opens his door and steps out.

His hair is in a disarray as always, but ten times worse. It isn't tousled, but a bird's nest instead. There are dark spots under his eyes and his lids droop low as his shoulders. His too-large sweatshirt is rucked up on one side, revealing boxer briefs. Lance's skin is pallid as he stares down at the floor. He flinches harshly when he hears Shiro's book bag drop, and looks up. His somber expression makes way for guilt.

"Hey," Lance says quietly, voice scratchy, looking down at his feet. He shoves his hands into the pockets in the shirt. “Um, I already ate.”

“I figured as much,” Shiro says. His eyes roam over Lance’s posture. “Are you okay, Lance?”

His lip trembles, and Shiro feels like a complete dick for no real reason.

“Yeah, I’m jus’ peachy,” he murmurs, though his voice cracks. He sniffles and finally glances up into Shiro’s eyes. Lance lets out a heaving sigh and doesn’t bother to smile when he says, “I really am fine.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Shiro says, walking over to Lance. Lance leans his back on the wall, lazy and indifferent yet screaming volumes of dismal. Lance drags his gaze around Shiro, stopping on his fringe.

Subconsciously, Shiro finds himself copying Lance’s pose but with his arms crossed instead. Something flashes across Lance’s face, something almost suspicious but not quite. They stare at each other for a moment before Lance averts his eyes, though they weren’t making contact with Shiro’s.

“Does it matter if I didn’t lie?” Lance retorts. His voice doesn’t have the usual vivacious fire that sparked an argument. It sounds more exasperated than anything. Lance shrugs off of the wall, casting one last look at Shiro before heading down the hallway. Shiro follows, a few paces behind him.

Lance spins on his heel and nearly glares when they make their way to the living room, but apparently doesn’t have the energy to do so.

“Shiro.”

“Yes?” Shiro says, raising his eyebrows. He pushes his glasses up further on his nose. “What’s the problem?”

“Why are you following me, dude?” Lance asks, fingers twitching inside of the shirt pocket. “Don’t you have papers to grade or something?”

“Don’t you have charting to do?” Shiro says with an obnoxious grin. At that, he _does_ gain a mild scowl. Lance’s lip isn’t quivering as much anymore, at least. “I think that’s even more important than me grading papers.”

“You left your backpack in the hallway,” Lance actually _snaps_ , pointing behind Shiro. “You should probably take care of that. Put it in your room, since, you know, you’re always complaining about me leaving my stuff in places that don’t belong. A lot of things don’t _belong_ in certain _places_ , Shiro – “ Lance’s voice cracks as Shiro’s brows slowly furrow together and his smile drops completely, “- but if you can prevent it, then why have it there, huh?

“You don’t like my shoes on the counter, I know. I don’t like your backpack in the hallway. They’re two things that just don’t belong together. Like – like fucking – “ Lance hiccups, “- a fork in a socket or a giraffe in Antarctica. Maybe we shouldn’t have fucking stuck the fork in there or put a fucking giraffe on a block of ice, God that was so stupid why the fuck would that even – “

Shiro cuts him off with a firm hug. Lance shakes in his arms, gripping at Shiro’s collar like a lifeline. He has yet to cry, however. Shiro always finds that making Lance angry when he’s sad can direct the conversation to talking about what’s making him upset. It seems to have worked once again.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck!”_ Lance screams into his shirt. Shiro holds him tighter, pressing his lips into the top of Lance’s head. Even with the hair knotted, it’s soft. “I’m so…”

“So what?” Shiro asks, pulling back to look at Lance. Blue eyes shine dangerously and God, Lance really _does_ need to be alone, doesn’t he? “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Lance pulls away completely, expression falling even further into a sorrowful state. He looks towards the front door, then the kitchen, then the couch. He doesn’t say anything, instead turning on his heel and walking to the couch. Shiro trails after him slowly, and he watches as Lance lowers himself to his side to lay down. After a moment of hesitation, Shiro sits next to his head. Awkwardly, and blushing madly, he raises Lance’s head and scoots over so the man’s head is resting in his lap.

“Can I try to unknot your hair?” Shiro asks quietly. He sees and feels Lance nod. Carefully, Shiro starts prodding apart the hairs. “Feel free.”

They sit in silence a while longer, and Lance’s eyes still haven’t dried. They look as if they’re able to leak within a second at any time. It’s an hour of Lance shaking in his lap and finally unknotted hair that Lance decides to speak. He starts with a shaky breath that hitches into a grunt.

“I just had an epiphany,” Lance confesses. Shiro runs his hand through Lance’s hair to coax him into telling more. “I never really thought about it the way that I did last night, though.”

“Thought about what?”

Shiro can hear the gulp that Lance gives.

“I dunno, man,” Lance whispers. “Just the thought that some things aren’t meant to be together.” Shiro looks down at Lance to see him smiling bitterly. “More than I thought. The wakeup call made me depressed.”

“Did you take your pill today?” Shiro asks, tugging Lance’s hair to get his attention. Lance hums, pleased, and Shiro flushes.

“Yeah,” Lance says with a sigh.

“What brought this up?”

“Would it be okay if I lied and said,” Lance makes his voice squeaky, “Shiro, cold Gatorade and honey just don’t belong together; they don’t mix!”

Shiro laughs a bit before saying, “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Darn,” Lance says. A few seconds tick by. “I was just thinkin’ about this guy that I _really_ like. It’s a shame because I don’t think he’ll ever… I _know_ he’ll never feel the same way about me. So in bed, I had just thought that we weren’t made to be together. We don’t belong together. And it kind of hurts.”

Shiro’s chest tightens and, selfishly, he thinks it’s for the best if Lance’s crush slash ex-crush doesn’t return his feelings.

_Then I can be there to love._

Yikes.

“Shiro?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Shiro says. He clears his throat. “Lance, you shouldn’t just assume things about people. This guy, right? You don’t know if he likes you. Shit, you should go ahead and ask him.”

A pause.

“Shiro, do you like me?”

Shiro blinks at the black television screen in front of him. His heart caches on much faster than his brain, and when it clicks, he goes red from his hairline to his chest. Shiro sputters and looks down at Lance. He has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Bah, I hate you,” Shiro mumbles. Lance laughs at that. It’s short, but it’s still something. “Wanna hear a joke?”

“Sure,” Lance says. Shiro leans back and doesn’t see Lance’s blush, nor his giddy expression – Shiro’s response had excited him, made a little bubble of hope begin to rise in a vast, still sea.

“What do you get when you mix a rhetorical question with a joke?”

Lance laughs immediately. It’s that high-pitched giggle that makes Shiro just a little crazy.

“Gimme another one.”

“What’s the difference between ignorance and apathy?”

“What, Shiro?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

At that, Lance lets out a reluctant huff of laughter.

“Everyone asks ‘ _Where’s Waldo?’_  But no one ever asks ‘ _How’s Waldo?’”_

And finally, _finally_ , Lance chortles Shiro’s favorite, when he isn’t even laughter, just snorting instead. Shiro’s heart melts in his chest at the sight before it carefully skips a delightful beat.

Shiro watches with a content grin on his face as tears of laughter run sideways from Lance’s eyes. He guesses he couldn’t break the promise of tears, though these are happy, so he counts it as a win. His breath hitches when sapphires are revealed to stare up at him.

Lance beams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *holds out hands* wehre's mY fkucign mlik  
> I'm so tired lmao here's a chapter


	5. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is pretty sure Shiro could murder someone, blood dripping from his fingers, and he'd love those hands anyway.
> 
> And - a nee challenger has appeared, hasn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *uploads when school is in session*
> 
> Been a while, old friend

Lance hates his hands.

They don't tan with the rest of his skin as it should. Maybe he's exaggerating the fact that they feel paler than the inner, upper thigh. And yes, Lance protects his skin thoroughly. But could they at least be the same color as the rest of his body? Don't get him started with his fingers. They're long and almost lithe, the weirdest thing he's ever noticed about them. He has yet to use them for something that matters. His wrists are tiny, too, and the amount of ease that literally anyone could wrap their hands around and make their fingers touch is disconcerting. There aren't any scars, nothing distinguishable other than the mole on his left wrist. They were oddly small as well, and Lance can still fight his freaking hand in the Pringles can. Soft and baby like. His hands just - they suck, they're useless, they're nothing even remotely special. So what if he has pretty nail beds? What is that good for?

Lance loves Shiro's hands.

Yes, the human and prosthetic one.

They're built through same, down to the width of his fingers. His left hand is rough, callouses on the pads of his fingers. Not overly so, but enough to have a perverted tingle go up Lance's spine. And, God, both of his hands are so big. So much so that Shiro just might be able to fight his hand around Lance's neck and be able to touch fingers. The right arm so just as, usually cold but unusually warm when he's in the sun for too long. There are light scratches on the palm of that hand, nothing a little sanding can't fix. But it also feels amazing on Lance's skin. Everything about his hands are thick, and small scars can be found wherever. Does that make them less sexy? No. On his palm, the back of his hand - it speaks of someone who defended their country.

God, he's so weird.

Lance grunts as he tugs on the cart pushed into another. It's the only cart left that doesn't have gum on the handle and fuck knows he doesn't mess with that.

Getting a better grip, he tugs harder. It pulls and stings at the soft skin of Lance's palms but he's used to how sensitive his hands are by now that he doesn't even wince.

It's not that Lance is skinny, okay? He works hard so he's not lanky, rather wiry. It's his soft ass hands that for some reason keep slipping off of the bar.

Lance growls low in his throat, giving another harsh jerk to the cart. It squeaks, but doesn't budge.

In a moment of weakness, Lance shrieks high in frustration. He curses in Spanish, running his hands through his hair in distress. He really, _really_  doesn't wanna touch the gummy carts. 

"Fuck my tight little asshole," he whines. 

"Don't mind if I do," a voice says behind him.

It's deep, way deeper than Shiro's, and just a little more raspy than Lance's. It has a small shiver running up his spine. He feels a little guilty but at the same time, he and Shiro aren't in a relationship. Nothing to be ashamed of.

Lance looks over his shoulder at the stranger. He's tall, skin honey brown with high cheek bones. His eyes are almond shaped, a brown like iced tea. His eyelashes are also insanely long, outrageously curly hair on his head. Compared to Lance's loopy curls that sit atop his head, his were tighter yet just as fluffy and shifted to the side.

Lance huffs, "Think you can help me out here, big guy?"

"With your asshole or the cart you've been fighting with for the past ten minutes?"

Lance raises a challenging eyebrow.

Both?

"The cart," he says instead. The man shrugs an okay and gently pushes Lance out of the way. With a slight grunt, he detaches the cart from the other. Lance claps excitedly.

"Oh God, thank you so much!" Lance says cheerily. The man looks taken aback. "I hate chewed up gum so much and I really don't think I coulda stand it!"

"Uh, no problem," he says after a beat. He holds out a hand and Lance shakes it. "I'm Adrian."

"The name's Lance," fuck, he hadn't meant to say that, "and really, thank you."

"It's okay, man," Adrian says with a chuckle. It has Lance's stomach do a sloppy flip in his abdomen. Adrian moves out of the way so Lance can grab the handle bar. "So, uh, what are you buying?"

Lance hums and steers the cart towards the entrance. "I gotta buy food to make 'cause my roommate doesn't know how to cook."

"Well, what are you going to cook?" Adrian asks. Lance heads for the entrance and he follows.

"Um, probably lasagna," he replies with a shrug. "Easy peasy." Lance gives Adrian a look. "What are you here for?"

"Orange."

Lance snorts at that and doesn't bother to hide it.

"You're here for an orange?"

"Yeah, orange."

"Okay," he says through a laugh. He doesn't know why he thinks it's funny. "Orange."

As Lance goes to different aisles, Adrian tags along and makes random comments.

In example:

"You put cream cheese in your lasagna?"

"I mix it with salsa first, but yes."

"That's gross and so are you."

Another:

"Sausage?"

"I empty the meat from the sleeve and scoop out the meat for the sauce."

"Riveting. Tell me more."

"You're an ass."

"Interesting."

Lance is laughing at Adrian after he runs into a display. The boxes topple to the floor onto him and he let's out a strangled yelp similar to Lance's name. He curls over the cart handle, trying to get a grip on his giggles. 

"H - how did you e - even - " he begins to laugh even harder as Adrian's head pokes out from the cereal boxes covering him. "Oh my _God_."

Adrian just grins sheepishly and shuffles around, finally managing to stand. He stares down at the pile with a resigned expression.

"I don't know how to rebuild that."

"Just tell someone," Lance says, little titters still lacing his words. Adrian sends him a halfhearted glare.

"It's not funny."

"Oh, it so is." Lance grins at him so hard that his cheeks strain. Adrian's cheeks flush just the slightest and he looks away, wry. "Come on, you gotta admit that was funny."

Adrian pouts at him, crossing his arms. His mouth is in a natural pout - like Lance has a tiny resting smirk - so it has extra _umph_. Lance's eyes go from his face to his biceps, not long enough for him to notice.

"Maybe it's only funny to mean people," Adrian grumbles, but his lips are twitching into a smile. "I didn't know you were so blatantly mean."

"I'm an absolute angel, thank you very much!" Lance exclaims, holding a hand to his chest. "How dare you assume I am anything other?"

Adrian's eyes flick to the side and he squints. A hand lands on the back of Lance's neck and he flinches so hard that he nearly impales himself in the handle of the cart. Then a laugh, _Shiro's_ laugh, as he rubs Lance's neck soothingly. His hand is calloused on where his hand rests on the junction of Lance's neck and shoulder. His thumb is rough as it skates across sensitive skin. Lance has to actively make sure he doesn't shiver.

"You are an angel," Shiro says cheerily. Lance groans and stands up straight again. Adrian is watching Shiro with raised eyebrows, looking between him and Lance.

"You know this guy, Lance?" they both say at the same time.

"Yes?" Lance says carefully, turning to look over his shoulder at Shiro. His right hand grips a jar of dill pickles, his left still kneading his skin. It's rough and hard and Shiro's hand stutters when Lance glances at him -

Like his heart does, sometimes, when Shiro looks at him.

It's nice.

"What are you doing here?" Lance asks lightly. He looks to Adrian briefly, who stands up straighter. Shiro does the same and Lance wants to sigh. Fucking alpha males.

"I was going to try to make burgers," Shiro says. Lance looks at him flatly. "What?"

"Did you forget that you're banned from the kitchen?"

"Oh please, Mr. I-Put-Cream-Cheese - "

"Shut up, Adrian!" Lance shrieks pulling away from Shiro to punch his arm. "God damn, he doesn't - just shut up."

Adrian laughs easily, elbowing Lance lightly in the stomach.

"Aw, come on, like it's gonna kill a guy to know?"

"Probably not," Lance says with a sigh. 

"Know what?" Shiro asks. "Did you tell him your secret recipe?"

"Well, yes?" Lance says. He winces when Shiro's eyes betray his annoyance. "Look, I just met him. He just happened to tag along, so now he knows what I put into it. He doesn't know the full thing. But now you know, too, so." Then, he raises an eyebrow. "Why aren't you at work?"

Lance watches as Shiro visibly struggles to internally fight with himself. Suddenly, a hot pink flush takes over his ears and cheeks.

"I wanted to surprise you."

And, shit, his tone of voice makes Lance blush, too. He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. Maybe he's imagining the romantic tension in the air. But Shiro won't stop looking into his eyes and Lance can't rip his gaze away. If he were even a foot closer, he would have kissed the _man_ out of Shiro.

"Are you two together?" Adrian asks.

"No," Lance replies the same time Shiro does. He would say Shiro sounds reluctant, but that's wishful thinking. Adrian hums, almost like he's suspicious of something.

"Well, does that mean you can get together with me?"

Lance chokes on his spit, turning to Adrian and stumbling into his chest. Adrian makes sure Lance is standing up straight but doesn't pull away from him. The flush makes its way down to his chest. His hands are big yet soft where they touch Lance.

"S-sure," he stammers out. Adrian gives him a nearly breathtaking smile - his eyes crinkle at the corners and _damn_ , his eyelashes are pretty long.

"Cool. Number?"

 

Shiro seems oddly pissed when they get back to the apartment. He had gotten out of his car with his ingredients in a storm and left Lance alone in his car. Mind, Lance bought a lot of things for future meals. He, in total, makes around three trips to the car and back. The last time, he's beyond pissed. He supposes it's because he takes Shiro's kindness for granted. Still, that's not a necessarily kind thing to do. It's just not being a dick, and that's what Shiro is being.

Lance doesn't mean to slam the door behind him. His arms are full, though, so he just closes it with his hip. The resounding echo is much louder than he expects. He huffs loudly, muttering in Spanish, _"He's such an asshole sometimes, Jesus Christ what did I do to deserve this. I'm not weak, but what the shit, Takashi? I have so many things to carry!"_

With a thump, he drops the rest of the groceries on the counter. The fucker couldn't even put his own fucking things away.

_I'm about to lose my absolute shit with this man._

In the most passive aggressive way possible, Lance shoves the items away. Then, by the time he's done, it's time to cook dinner. So he takes everything he needs back out, now just plain aggressively. He's calm by the time Shiro emerges from wherever, singing under his breath.

 _"You're salty skin and how it mixes in with mine, the way it feels to be, completely intertwined -_ "

_"It's not that I didn't care, it's what I didn't know; it's not what I didn't feel, it's what I didn't show..."_

Lance whips around, hearing Shiro's terrible, soft singing voice. The man can't sing for shit, but he tries to anyway. On most occasions, it will bring a smile to Lance's face. Now, however, he scowls. Shiro grins sheepishly, and there's something in his eyes that Lance can't decipher.

"I'm sorry for not helping you put - "

"You're a cunt, not only for that, but for leaving raw meat out." Lance turns on his heel, singing more forcefully under his breath. _"I love your hair, I love your name, I love the way you say it - "_

"Lance, please."

"What."

"I don't know why I was so pissy, and I'm sorry I didn't help you. I was being rude."

"Shut up," Lance says with a sigh. He places a jar of extra spicy salsa on the counter adjacent to the one he stands at. Then, he slides a cutting board and chef's knife onto the other side. "Mince the salsa."

A relieved release of air from Shiro has Lance grinning the tiniest bit. But Lance is able to boil the pasta, grease the pan, preheat the oven, make the Alfredo sauce, make the tomato sauce, and scoop out the meat from the sausage by the time Shiro is half-way done. Lance is in the middle of whipping the cream cheese when he turns around to look at Shiro. Yes, half of the salsa is as fine as Lance likes it. But shit, is he taking a long time. Lance stops the mix, expression falling flat.

"Shiro," he calls.

His roommate turns around, the furrow in his brows smoothing out as he smiles and raises his eyebrows. Like a God damn puppy and _Lance needs a break._

"Yes, Chef?" Shiro asks with a cheeky smile.

Voice monotone, Lance utters, "Why are you taking so long to cut the freaking salsa."

"To make it like you like it!" Shiro gripes, placing the knife down. His left hand is covered in tomato juice.

Wait, was that a proper sentence?

Isn't Shiro an English teacher?

"You are taking a shit-ton of time, dude!" Lance exclaims, exasperated.

Shiro opens his mouth to say something but changes his mind and shuts it. Lance watches warily as Shiro makes his way towards him. His breath hitches in his throat when Shiro's index finger lightly touches his bottom lip, cold metal warming the mildly heated skin. His finger drags across Lance's lip, the texture smooth and warming to Lance's temperature as it trails. Lance shivers at the feeling, then snaps his eyes open when he realizes they'd fluttered shut. Shiro is staring at him intensely, a calculating look on his face as he brings the finger to his own mouth. There was cream cheese on Lance's lip, and Shiro licked it off his finger.

 _Hnnnnnngggggg_.

"Oh, okay," Lance says, voice wavering with a small squeak. "Uh, I'm gonna teach you how to cut it faster."

"Sure," Shiro says. His voice is low and his ears are lightly tinted pink, and he turns back to his side of the kitchen. "Show me, boss." His neck and ears turn red, then.

Lance walks the four steps to the other counter and peers more closely at Shiro's work. It's messier than it should be with the tomato juices, but the work is well-done. 

"Show me how you hold the knife," Lance demands. Shiro picks it up and Lance sort of wants to slap him. "Why the _fuck_ are you holding it by the blade?!"

"I thought it would be easier!"

"Oh, for fuck's - " Lance sighs, then reaches over to open Shiro's hand. He takes the knife and positions it correctly. "You gotta hold it like this."

"That makes sense," Shiro says under his breath. Lance can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not. He worries sometimes.

"Show me how you chop."

Shiro very slowly brings the knife down to slice through tomato chunks, onions, peppers, and garlic. He presses down extra hard into the board.

_That poor board._

With a put-upon expression, Lance stands behind Shiro and puts his arms around him. Will he admit that he purposely dragged his hands over Shiro's arms?

Absolutely.

The man tenses for a second before relaxing. Lance places his hands loosely over Shiro's wrists.

"Just do what I do afterwards," Lance says softly. He can barely see what he's doing, when with Shiro being taller than him. The larger man nods silently.

Lance cups Shiro's hand and places it at the end of the already diced food. With the other, he brings up the blade and slides it towards him and down, fast. It cuts instantly, the size what it should be.

"See?"

"Yeah," Shiro says. He sounds kind of strangled, but it might be because he realizes he had to do it on his own. "Thanks."

"Yup!" Lance chirps, quickly moving away from him. The back of his left hand is softer, yet still obviously of a man's hand. "Let's finish."

Lance lets Shiro spread some of the alfredo sauce on the bottom of the pan. He does it gently, and it's sort of cute.

"Now, the tomato," Lance says. Shiro does so, "Now place the noodles on top of that."

He does so carefully as Lance mixes some alfredo with the tomato sauce. He dumps the meat into it and mixes thoroughly.

"What now?" Shiro asks, looking up. He's somehow managed to get tomato sauce on his neck. Lance doesn't say anything about it, simply smiling.

"Evenly distribute some of the salsa-cream cheese mix."

"Um, of I remember correctly, is it salsa, pasta, alfredo and ricotta, pasta, tomato sauce and meat, then repeat?" Shiro asks. The question is oddly insecure. Lance reaches up and swipes the tomato sauce before sucking it off of his finger, thinking nothing of it.

"I'm so proud of you," Lance coos, already turned around and walking away. "You actually remember. Think you can take care of the rest? I already preheated the oven. All you gotta do is put it in for two and a half hours."

"Yeah, sure."

"Remember, the last layer before the mozzarella is the meat," Lance tosses over his shoulder as he makes his way to the bathroom. He needs a cold, _cold_ shower.

 

The lasagna comes out perfect. 

Shiro's really proud of it. Especially when he knows he stacked it high like Lance usually does.

 

Lance is halfway through gulping his food down when he notices Shiro staring at him. Or rather, his hands where they're poised near his mouth. Lance drops the fork suddenly, then shoves his hands between his thighs. He doesn't need Shiro to stare at his hands. It'll make him hate them more than he already does. Then, restless after Shiro stares at the edge of the table, he begins to fiddle with his hair. Shiro watches the movements with an odd acuteness. Lance _really_ needs to say something.

"I needa cut my hair," he blurts, tugging on his bangs. They officially line the edge of his upper eyelids and it's mildly distracting. "Uh, when do you think I should?"

"I can cut your hair?" Shiro suggests after a moment. Lance nods hurriedly, eager to have Shiro's hands in his hair. Shiro smiles at him, "All right."

Lance nearly leaps out of his seat and picks up his plate. He places his food in the microwave, aware of the temperature danger zone but not really caring. He needs it cut, really. Maybe not too short, but he doesn't wanna be able to see it.

Maybe he should wash his hair, too?

Shiro snorts behind him and he hears the sound of a chair scraping on tile. He tenses when he feels Shiro's body heat behind him as he places his plate in the microwave next to his.

"Let's go," Shiro murmurs quietly, stepping back. Lance turns just as Shiro does, and he finds that his neck is pink.

Huh.

Shiro ends up washing it for him. Feeling his fingers drag through his fingers was an explicitly amazing feeling. He even used Lance's shampoo, which was greatly appreciated. Not to call Shiro's hair products trash, but they are.

Lance is sitting in Shiro's room, now, at his desk. The comb goes through his hair like absolute butter. Shiro is combing a lot, and Lance can only hear and feel the occasional snip of the scissors.

Maybe he's taking quite a bit of time on this, right? There's no way his hair needs this much combing to get cut. And Shiro hasn't even started at the top yet, so what's the hold up? Lance's ass kind of hurts.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out. He raises an eyebrow at the text message.

**[October 4][19:06][Unknown]**

**I just want daddy's cummies**

"Um," Lance says under his breath, "what the fuck?"

He has a feeling he knows who it is.

**[October 4][19:06][Me]**

**Whomst the fuck is this??**

**[October 4][19:07][Unknown]**

**Adrian ;^;**

Lance snorts and saves the number under _Weirdo_.

**[October 4][19:08][Me]**

**(⌣_⌣”) my bad homeslice**

**[October 4][19:08][Weirdo]**

**don't make me eAT YOUR ASS LANCE**

He laughs, startled at the message. Shiro makes a curious sound but Lance just waves his hand.

**[October 4][19:09][Me]**

**All right, bet**

"Who are you texting that you're smiling so hard?" Shiro asks. It has Lance nearly jumping out of his seat. He clutches his phone close to his chest. When he looks up, Shiro appears thoroughly amused. "Is it Hunk?"

"No, it's Adrian," Lance replies, eyes drifting back to his phone. He doesn't notice the scowl on Shiro's face.

**[October 4][19:09][Weirdo]**

**Prepare thy bootyhole to get WRECKED**

Lance is about to reply while he laughs when his phone screen goes dark. He didn't even notice his battery was running low. And now that he's not distracted, he's aware Shiro is cutting his hair a lot faster.

"Shiro, are you okay?" Lance asks after a particularly aggressive snip. He doesn't answer, cutting a few more times before putting down the scissors. "Takashi?"

"Yes?" he says quietly. He squirts some mousse into his hand and gently runs it into Lance's hair. He shivers when blunt nails dig a bit into his scalp as Shiro styles it. "What is it?"

"Are you all right?"

Shiro shoves a hand mirror into Lance's hand. He kept it longer on top, short everywhere else. He would be surprised if he didn't know Shiro had a job at a hair salon during college.

"I'm just peachy," Shiro says as he bends over Lance to grab the scissors and the mousse. He shoves it into a drawer carelessly. "Why do you ask?"

"I dunno. You just seem kind of upset."

"I'm fine, _Leandro_."

Oh, _fuck_.

Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, that is _beyond_ hot.

_I can rest in peace now_ _._

Side note, why does Shiro do this to him?

"Okay!" he squeaks, and can't help the blood that rushes into his cheeks. Shiro raises an eyebrow. "Glad you're - you're nice! I mean, glad - um - glad nothing's wrong!"

God, he's being so fucking _loud._

"Yeah," Shiro confirms, crossing his arms and expression smug.

Lance feels his soul leave his body.

Shiro smirks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a weak ass chapter, but pls leave comments anyway


	6. His Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro thinks Lance's hands are adorable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its shit and I'm aware its shit. Take it anyway.

Shiro loves Lance's hands.

And, look, he's aware that Lance doesn't like them. Maybe because they're dainty, or smooth, whatever. That doesn't change what Shiro thinks about them. The sheer amount of dexterity he withholds in them is breathtaking. Watching Lance paint with precise actions, watching him cook with skilled slices, watching his hands. They're smooth, small, his wrists tiny enough for Shiro to touch pinky and thumb if he wrapped his own hand around it. His fingers are nimble, able to accomplish the most delicate of tasks. And they're blemish free, both of his hands, no scars in sight. God, what Shiro would give to just - hold them, swing a hand in his as they walk down a winding road. Lance can still fit Bugles on his fingers and easily fit his hand in a Pringles can.

It's absolutely adorable.

Shiro sighs, looking up from his desk and shifting his gaze towards the clock on the wall. He forgot lunch at home, _again_ , and he belatedly realizes he needs to open the door to his classroom. A couple of kids are peering into the window, obviously looking for him.

With another puff of irritated air, he stands and makes his way over to the door. As he opens it, students back away. He holds the door open for them, leaning against it.

"Good afternoon," he greets. He gets varied responses. One smart ass says that it's still technically morning since it's 11:40am. Shiro wants to tell her to fuck off.

They chatter for a bit and wordlessly, Shiro starts the smart board. In all caps, he writes, _more talking = longer essay_.

Then he steps to the side, faces the class, and crosses his arms. Many go silent. The ones that were speaking turn to read the board and shut up. Shiro's glasses are already too tight, and the chattering teens aren't help his headache.

"Hello, class," he says. "Now you know you'll have an essay due."

A student, Shiro's least favorite, raises his hand. Reluctantly, he calls on him.

"Yes, Chad?"

"So, uh, what's it about?" he asks. God, Shiro hates him.

He's so stupid.

"Can I get to that? Thank you," he says tightly. He adjusts his glasses, but it doesn't let up on the pressure. "It's nice and easy; student interviews."

Shiro's second hated student raises her hand. She pops her gum loudly and Shiro feels his eye twitch.

"What, Denise?" Shiro almost spits. She raises her eyebrows and lowers her hand. He sighs and uncrosses his arms. "Sorry, sorry. I'm not in the best mood."

"You going through menopause, Mr. Shirogane?" Chad asks - the class laughs.

"Yes, Chad," Shiro says, deadpan. "May I continue?"

"Go ahead."

Shiro looks to the ceiling for a moment, praying that he doesn't snap in his class. The sheer amount of irritation he feels, in this moment of time, is indescribable. He's sure it has to do with his lack of a meal, but that doesn't stop it from manifesting.

Then Terara, bless her soul, hisses, "Shut the fuck up, Chad! Leave him alone."

"Watch your language," Shiro says blandly. "I'll be assigning you partners to interview each other. You need to come up with at least ten questions and have them approved by me."

Iyana raises her hand and speaks without Shiro calling on her.

"Are you assigning today? And what does the essay - "

"The essay will answer the questions in the interview in a narrative!" Shiro snaps. He takes off his glasses and places his hand over his eyes, groaning low in his throat. "God, _fuck_ , just pick your own partners. If I find out you knew the person before hand you get a zero."

He walks back to his desk at the back of the room, ignoring the dead silence. It's probably because it's the first time Shiro has yelled or cursed in class. He sits down heavily and folds his arms on his desks. His class stares at him before they idly chat, lazily ignoring the assignment. He can't find it in himself to care, instead resting his head on his forearms.

A knock sounds from the door and he groans heavily into his arms. He hears Denise pop her gum, say, "I'll get it."

The door opens and she nearly purrs, "Well, hello there."

He can't hear what the other person says, but Denise replies, "Of course, he's at his desk!"

The door opens a bit wider and Shiro identifies the tell-tale squeak of the hinges. There's a wolf whistle and a couple of girls giggle. Maybe Mr. Ethol came to tell him something.

He really hopes it's not an administrator.

The person stops at his desk but doesn't say anything. Shiro pulls his head up and grunts, "Yes?"

"You forgot your lunch."

His eyes snap to Lance's face, which is mildly irked. He's in his nurse practitioner coat, which outlines his shoulders nicely. The black slacks hug his legs, and the maya blue button up he wears compliments his eyes. It's tucked in, so it definitely shows that his stomach is flat and toned.

Shiro's not sure why Lance looks so attractive. His hair is slicked back, still curly. There's a pen light behind his left ear and a normal pen behind his right.

What a dork.

Lance shakes his left arm and brings it up. The Rolex that Shiro got him for his birthday gleams as he peers at it sarcastically. Shiro stands, putting his glasses back on.

"What are you doing here?" Shiro asks, bewildered. Isn't Lance supposed to be at work?

"You forgot your lunch," Lance repeats, raising an eyebrow. He places a brown paper bag, stuffed to the brim, on his desk. It looks bigger than it is in his small hands. "And you left it out for too long, so I made you something."

Shiro opens the bag and pulls out three containers, all hot.

"Fried chicken, cornbread, and collard greens," Lance provides. Shiro looks up at him and Lance grins, a flush spreading across his cheeks. "Stop looking at me like that, man."

"Like what?" Shiro breathes, walking from around the desk. He leans his hip on the desk, standing in front of Lance who had turned. "Like you made my day?"

"More like your life," Lance drawls, rolling his eyes. The tips of his ears begin to turn red. "Takashi, stop."

A subtle hitch in his throat, but he smirks. "Stop _what_ , Leandro?"

Lance sticks out his bottom lip and crosses his arms.

"Whatever, dude," Lance mutters. Shiro laughs lightly, enjoying the slight smile trying to break the pout.

"I didn't know you were married, Mr. Shirogane," Victoria says - Shiro jumps, straightening his spine. "Why don't you wear your wedding ring?"

Lance must be wearing his fake wedding ring again. Subtly, Shiro peers at the shiny piece of plastic on Lance's small, left ring finger. Probably to fend off horny people at the clinic, again.

But what the _Hell_ -

"Oh," Shiro chokes out. "Um, we're not - "

"I told him he doesn't have to at work," Lance replies smoothly. He gazes at Shiro, something fond swimming in those blue pools along with mischief. "It's not a big deal."

Lance sticks out his hand - Shiro grabs it and intertwines their fingers. Lance stares at their hands for a moment before his eyes flicker to Shiro's. He grins, then winks, and Shiro feels his face turn red.

"I love you," Shiro says gently, and it's purposefully mocking. Lance's face bleeds into flustered before a sudden confident expression takes over.

"I love you, too, baby," Lance coos. He makes eye contact with Shiro and chuckles, shaking his head and looking away. It's so freaking _adorable_.

"A-anyways, we're doing student interviews," Shieo stutters with a wobbly smile. "Then writing a narrative answering the questions."

Lance's face grows curious as he says, "Have you read Beowulf yet?"

"No," Shiro says with a sigh. Absentmindedly, he swings his and Lance's hands. "I'm just trying to get a gauge on how they write."

"Fuck that, they can write an essay on Beowulf."

"Why are you so hung up on that?"

"Hush. It was my favorite epic in high school."

Lance huffs and takes his hand back before stomping over to the Promethean board. He picks up the stylus and writes, _Beowulf Project_.

"Uh, Lance - "

"Listen up, fuckers," Lance calls. "We're all going to read Beowulf aloud together. Ta - Mr. Shirogane will assign you with groups of four. At the end, you will each pick two sections of the play to do and assign a song. The essay will consist of the plot summary of the chapter, notable scenes, and how the song relates to that particular section of the poem. You got two weeks."

It's silent for a second, but then Shiro snorts and the protests begin.

"You're not our teacher!"

"That's a lot of work!"

"Bro, hop off!"

"You all keep complaining and you'll have to make it into a PowerPoint," Lance hisses. They gape at him, Chad in particular.

"Dude, you can't tell us what to do."

Lance mocks his surfer-esque accent, "Dude, my husband is your teacher and he can if he wants to."

A few amused but disbelieving laughs echo through the room.

"Anyway," says Lance, looking at the clock on the wall near Shiro's desk. "I need to get going. Obviously Shiro is in charge. He doesn't have to do jack shit of what I say."

Lance's phone buzzes in his coat and he takes it out. A slow grin makes its way across his face as he unlocks it and begins to type. Shiro crosses the room and gently settles his hands on Lance's hips. The other man jumps slightly, and his face grows intensely red, but he doesn't stop typing.

"Darling?" Shiro starts. Lance finally looks up at him, and Shiro is close enough that he can see the speckles of green and gray in his eyes. "Who were you talking to?"

"Just meeting with a friend for lunch. At the little French café down the street because you don't like the food there." Lance laughs then, almost nervously as he moves out of Shiro's grip. "I gotta get going."

"Oh, is it Sarah? Tell her I said hi," Shiro says, watching as Lance walks to the door. In hindsight, maybe he should have known that-

"Actually, it's Adrian. Found out today that he likes French food as much as me!" Lance informs, obviously excited. "See you later, babe."

Softly, Shiro murmurs, "Bye."

Lance throws out a peace sign before leaving.

"Oof," Chad says with a wince. "You don't like that Adrian guy, huh?"

Shiro smooths out his expression, coming to the realization that his face transformed into a scowl.

"You have no idea, Chad. And, we're doing the Beowulf assignment."

He revels in the sound of his students complaining.

"Plus the PowerPoint."

Shiro laughs as the groans get louder.

 

Lance is already home by the time Shiro gets back. It's odd, considering most days he isn't. It might be a Monday, though, because those are his half days.

God, he doesn't even know what day it is.

Tragic.

The thing is, Lance usually texts him when he's home. Instead, he's curled up on the couch and watching a movie. A container of some sort sits on the table.

"Honey, I'm home," Shiro says, kicking off his shoes. His headache had gone away after he ate, despite his students' complaints. 

"Hey," Lance says, eyes briefly flickering to Shiro. "Want some escargot?"

"No," he says with a grimace. Lance gives a small grin, tucking his chin to his chest and burrowing further into the blanket. "Got anything else?"

"I got a, um," Lance pauses, cocking his head to the side. He finally looks to Shiro for long enough that he walks away from the door. It was mildly uncomfortable, how Lance wouldn't look at him, and he'snot sure why. "I have cream puffs."

"That's a negative," Shiro says, shaking his head. He walks over to the couch and sits next to Lance. Closely, but not enough to go over any boundaries. "Nothing else?"

"That clafoutis on the table," he informs with a nod to the container. Then he smirks a bit, a twinkle in his eyes. "Got it specifically for you."

"You spoil me!" Shiro exclaims, snatching the box and opening it. There the dessert sits, nearly a siren to Shiro's taste buds. "You really are my husband, huh?"

"Sure," Lance says, grinning. "If that's what you want me to be." Before Shiro can give an embarrassed response, Lance says, "You're gonna have to share, chief."

Shiro pouts leaning his shoulder against Lance's own. "But you said you got it for me."

"You're still eating it," Lance says through a small laugh. He leans forward, and Shiro nearly plummets to the cushions behind Lance. Lance grabs a fork and sits back up as Shiro rights himself. "You get to have the first bite."

"Great," Shiro says, and his tone has Lance scrunching up his nose. Shiro smirks at him as Lance's lip curls. 

"Ungrateful hoe," he murmurs before nodding to the fork. "Go on; you've never had it from the café I went to."

Shiro cuts into the pastry with his fork before popping it into his mouth. It's buttery and crispy and tart and -

"Holy fuck, this is good," Shiro moans, just to see the flush spread across Lance's face. "Oh my God, Lance."

"Stop!" Lance squeals, pushing at his shoulder. Shiro hums, cocking his head. "Jeez, perv."

"I just really appreciate this," Shiro says. And it's too soft for him, something that definitely should've given away his feelings. But Lance doesn't call him out on it, the blush spreading to the tips of his ears. "Thank you."

"What's up with you and food today?" Lance mumbles, grabbing the fork from Shiro. He cuts into another piece and nearly has it in his mouth before Shiro visibly panics. Lance lowers the fork with a raised eyebrow. "You okay?"

"You're gonna eat from the fork that I ate from?" Shiro asks, eyes wide. Lance gives him a flat look before lifting his hand and wrapping his lips around the fork. Shiro can feel the heat on his cheekbones.

Lance takes it out and says, his mouth full of food, "Yah."

_"Why?"_

"I didn't feel like getting up to wash the dishes," he responds, muffled by the food in his mouth.

Shiro's eyes flicker to his hand, and the fork actually looks pretty big in it. It's _cute_. Lance shoves the fork into Shiro's hands and sheds his blanket. He stands suddenly, and he's wearing his classic good mood pajamas - Deadpool sweats and a gray wife beater.

What a _nerd_.

"What do you want for dinner?" he asks, padding his way to the kitchen. What happened to being _too lazy to get up?_ "I figured we could just eat what you had for lunch. Of course, you don't have to, all things considered."

"Just because I ate it for lunch doesn't mean I wouldn't eat again. That was the good-good." Shiro places the container and fork back on the table before standing himself. He follows Lance into the kitchen. "It would taste good with the clafoutis, too."

"Sure thing, boss man."

 

Somehow, in the span of ten seconds, Lance manages to slice his palm open, and it's deep enough for stitches.

Shiro's only alerted when Lance gives a long and dramatic groan of irritation. Shiro turns him around quickly to find his blood literally dripping between his fingers. There's a lot, despite the intense pressure Lance is applying to it.

"Jesus fuck, Lance," Shiro sighs out, grabbing the hand. And as he holds it, he realizes that his hands dwarf Lance's a comical amount. Blood seeps from between Lance's fingers and soak his own hand. "How did you manage this?"

"Reaching into the drawer, forgot the chef's knife was in there," he grits out. "Take me to the hospital?"

"Of course," Shiro says. Though he's worried, he can't help the grin that takes over his face. "Your hands are pretty tiny to be bleeding so much."

Lance glares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :/ comment if you want

**Author's Note:**

> validate the author


End file.
